


Thy Affection Glitters Like Mine Credit Card

by Keemax



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, for the obey me white day exchange!, very fluff centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keemax/pseuds/Keemax
Summary: A month to the day she hands him a bill from Lucifer disguised as a love note, Mammon hands her an envelope of his own
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	Thy Affection Glitters Like Mine Credit Card

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @solita_lunita for the Obey Me! White Day exchange on twitter!
> 
> I'm a little late posting T-T, but the pandemic crisis has given me a very hectic past couple of weeks

A month to the day Fé hands him a bill from Lucifer disguised as a love note, Mammon hands her an envelope of his own.

He’s sitting next to her on the couch, cross-legged and hunched over with his elbows on his knees. It’s late, so the only light in the room is coming from the TV and it falls over his form in sharp angles, rapidly shifting positions and hue in pace with the fast-flowing fight scenes of _Angel Slayer_. A new anime Levi loved and had left her to watch on her own after he’d binged the whole first season by himself in a single sitting.

Mammon almost seems to glow against the shadowed silhouettes of the other furnishings in the room; his hair mussed, clad in only sweats and a white tank top. He’s sitting close enough that it’s impossible not to notice the way he keeps shifting. Clasping and unclasping his hands, worrying his bottom lip.

When she pauses the episode to go to the bathroom, his posture doesn’t waver. It’s only when she passes in front of him that he starts, head snapping upwards to look at her, wide eyes watching her open the bathroom door.

When she emerges again, she finds that he’s finally shifted; leaning back against the couch cushion and one bare foot on the floor. He’s still worrying his lip, but his hands have found something else to occupy themselves with – an envelope of muted manila coloring.

He had propped one elbow on the couch armrest, the adjoining hand buried in his hair, but as she passes in front on the TV again, he straightens, and the wayward hand comes down to smooth the paper in his lap. From the corner of her eye, Fé notes how his gaze flits to her, but swivels toward the television again once she sits and turns to him.

She doesn’t reach for the remote. Instead she props a hand beneath her chin and watches his profile. He swallows but doesn’t look at her, and drops his eyes to his lap.

“Did someone write you a love note?” she asks, already aware that this wasn’t case. As a model it wasn’t unrealistic to assume that he might have some admirers, and among them a few who might send him a note, but in that situation she would assume he’d have no hesitation about showing her.

Hell, if that were the case she’d probably be receiving text-complaints from his brothers about his bragging long before he had the chance to tell her himself.

But her question sparks the reaction she’d wanted: his body jolts and his head whips around to stare at her. A low flush starts creeping up his neck, visible even in such poor lighting. She smiles to herself – a twitch that pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“ _No_ –” his insistence is, at first, adamant. But then he backpedals, eyes flitting to other objects in the room. Ones that were, notably, not in her immediate vicinity. “-not. Uh. N-not this time.”

He pauses. He doesn’t turn his head, but she spots royal blue irises peeking at her from the corner of his eye. She meets his stare and he snaps his head in the opposite direction. He clears his throat.

Then, abruptly, he swivels his body to face her and puffs out his chest. “T-The Great Mammon gets tons a l-love notes from his adoring fans. But this –“ he looks down at the envelope and his shoulders seem to sag a little “-t-this one’s. uh. This one’s not for me.”

Fé arches her brow.

“So _you_ wrote me a love note?”

The reaction is instantaneous. Mammon chokes – either on air or on his own tongue, she’s not quite sure – and the flush on his neck spreads to his face. His cheeks burn, his mouth falls open.

“ _No!_ ”

The word is spat into the air between them. It hangs there for a moment, where Fé purses her lips at the way Mammon stares back at her, wide-eyed and paled, as if she’d been the one to say it and not him.

Had she not been familiar with the demon and his antics, she might have taken offense.

Instead, she watches him lift his hands and wave them in front of him in denial, like he does when Beel finds out he’d eaten the last of the devilfruit ice-cream in the freezer.

What he’d meant to say, he insists, tripping over his words as they rush out faster than he can string them together, she supposes, is that The Great Mammon doesn’t write love notes, he receives them. Nothing personal, just how the world works. So it’s not a love note. Not that he’d ever write one. It’s just – _y’know_.

In the end he thrusts the envelope out to her and doesn’t look her in the eye. She takes it from him, and the minute it leaves his fingers, he snaps back his hand, pulling a knee to his chest. He picks up his opened soda can from the table and busies himself by scrutinizing the label.

The envelope is thin and flimsy. Even without opening it, it’s clear there’s no paper inside – just something hard and flat tucked into the corner, a couple of inches long.

He hadn’t sealed it, so it takes only a second for her to pull out the mystery object and examine it between her fingers.

After a moment of staring, she raises her eyes to find him rubbing the back of his neck and thumbing the condensation from the soda can. He’d turned to face the TV again and seemed intent on watching the screen, which would have made for a more effective air of nonchalance had he bothered to un-pause the video, she supposes.

She arches a brow at him and holds up the mystery object between her finger and thumb. He chooses that moment to take a long swig from the can.

“I’m not paying your credit card bill.”

The response she gets is a fine mist of droplets sprayed over the surface of the table; a mess that she immediately vows to make him clean up after they finish discussing whatever move he’s trying to pull here. He puts the can down and turns to glare at her, coughing, one hand covering his nose and mouth.

“I know _that_ ,” his brow furrows and he pulls his hand away to reveal a scowl, “You’re supposed to say ‘ _thank you_ ’.”

“For what?” Goldie, his beloved and no-doubt completely maxed out credit card, sparkles softly in the low lighting. Whoever made it had put some kind of gold micro-glitter into the plastic, and it shimmered in a way that reminds her of the metallic paint on that car he has stashed in his room, “What do you expect me to do with this?”

He groans in a way that boarders on an impatient whine and tips his head back, before falling backwards onto the couch cushion.

“It’s a token.”

“A _token_.”

“Yeah, like-” he sinks lower and runs a hand over his face, “-like in Levi’s stupid TSL show. Y’know. When the Lord ‘a Fools gives his wife, Geldie, the key to his treasure room.”

Fé blinks.

“So-”

“It doesn’t _mean_ nothin’,” he blurts, straightening up again and crossing his arms, “To him. Or to me. B-but for Geldie, havin’ that key means she becomes head of his inner court, right?”

Fé purses her lips.

“You’re starting to sound like Levi.”

“ _Oi_ ,” Mammon glares over at her, the bright flush from earlier still clinging to his cheekbones, “Don’t compare me to that shut-in.”

She watches him shift, hunching himself forward and planting both elbows onto his knees, “I’m you’re first, yeah?” he mumbles, “So you should have somethin’ from me. Doesn’t mean nothin’, just take it.”

With that, he reaches over a grabs the remote from her side of the table. A second later the video starts up again, and for a few minutes Fé simply watches him, watching the Angel Slayer sibling duo continue their previous battle.

She tucks his credit card back into the envelope and puts it down on the table in front of her.

Turning back to the TV screen, she mirrors his posture and tucks her chin into her hands. Her eyes fall to the envelope again and something tugs at the back of her brain.

“And this has nothing to do with the bill from Lucifer I gave you last month?” she muses, “The one you thought was a love note?”

She doesn’t look at him, but she hears him choke, followed by a soft thud. His soda can rolls across the carpet to the side of her foot, spilling whatever had been left inside to soak into the fibers.

“ _No!_ ”

She smiles to herself, picking up the can and handing to back to him. She notes that his face is still flushed, and would probably stay that way for the rest of the night.


End file.
